by Frankie Love
"The Hound," father says simply. "My best."
Da Costa sizes me up for a long time, before nodding simply, like he accepts my father's words. "What do you want from me, then?"
"Why didn't you come to get Bianca?" I ask, surprising myself with my own braveness. I need to know. From Bianca's words, I'd assumed she was close with her father, but he didn't make a single attempt to get her from my family.
Da Costa looks from me to my father. "You told him about Sofia?"
"Some of it." The two men are staring at each other, in another internal battle. "He knows enough."
"I believed your father would not kill Bianca," Da Costa explains. "I believe he just wanted to be near him. And I believed I owed it to him."
His answer is strange, but I don't argue. Instead, I simply nod and deliver the horrible blow. "Bianca is missing. She disappeared from my apartment this morning."
Da Costa stares at me. "Gone?"
I nod.
"Just like that?"
I nod again.
He walks over to me calmly and slams his fist in my face, sending me staggering backwards. I deserve it. If I'd been more careful, she would still be safe with me, and our fathers wouldn't be having this stand-off.
"There were signs of a struggle," my father explains. "It appears that us... two old men aren't the only ones with an affection for Bianca."
Bianca's father looks at me questioningly, and I give him a desperate look. His eyes float from my face to my father's, and then he shocks us all by roaring with laughter. Even the fucking guards look uncomfortable.
“What a fucking turn,” he says, shaking his head. “What a fucking turn. Abbate’s son… and Sofia’s daughter.”
We all shuffle around uncomfortably while Da Costa looks at us. I don’t really know what to say, and I can tell he’s deciding whether he’ll let us in or not. But this is about the well-being of his daughter, after all, and in the end, Da Costa does the right thing. He tells his guards to back off, steps aside and motions for us to come closer. My father and I follow like two sheep.
We’ve been sitting in Da Costa’s study for a few hours now, mulling over our options. Da Costa seems to think the gun we found under the bed in my apartment is a bad sign, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Bianca that way.
The two men are talking among themselves, which is a miracle of its own accord, when I get a phone call. I excuse myself and answer the call in the hallways. It’s Pietro.
“Did you find anything else?” I bark down the line, desperate to have more information about Bianca. I can tell by his greeting he doesn’t have good news.
“Nothing,” he says regretfully. “None of the neighbors saw a thing, or are refusing to speak to us about it, anyway.”
“Are you still searching?” I ask.
“Yes, but we have other obligations…” Pietro seems nervous, and rightfully so.
“I don’t give a damn,” I roar down the line. “This is your new priority. Find Bianca and bring her back.”
“Okay, okay.” Pietro hesitates on the other end of the line, and I wait impatiently for him to finish what he was going to say. “Matteo… no, it’s nothing.”
“What?”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“What? Tell me, or I’ll pull your heart out through your throat, you jackass.” I don’t normally treat Pietro this way, but I’m pissed, tired, and I need answers. My heart beats faster as I wait for his response.
“The gun, the gun we found in your room,” he says slowly.
“What about it, Pietro?”
“The gun was planted.”
My heart stops for a moment. Then, I furrow my brows and start barking questions at him. “What do you mean you know it? Have you seen it before? Whose is it? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
A silence on the other end of the line. I’ve never been this angry in my life. “Tell me right now,” I hiss at him in Italian. “I need to know. Don’t you understand?”
I take a deep breath before continuing to speak. “I love her, Pietro. Fuck, I love her.”
He sighs down the line and I can tell the answer is coming. I wait patiently for him to deliver the news. “The gun… there were no bullets fired,” he finally manages to get out, then starts clearing his throat. I’m waiting like a viper getting ready to strike.
“The gun is fully loaded. I don’t understand why anyone would leave it behind like that, unless…” Pietro hesitates, and I can hear his discomfort down the line.
“Unless what, Pietro?”
“Unless someone left it behind on purpose.”
“But why?” I feel furious, punching a wall in the hallway. It serves no purpose, except making my fist bleed. The walls here are thick, the sign of good building and expensive housing. “Why would someone do that?”
“To plant evidence,” Pietro says. He sounds tired as fuck. “To lead us in the wrong direction. To make us think it was used, and she was gone, maybe dead. Make us stop looking for her.”
“Who would do that?” I ask. “Why would anyone do that?”
“To prevent you from coming to get her,” Pietro admits, defeated. There’s a commotion in the background and he rattles something in Italian. “I have to go, Matteo. Something going on here. I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”
“No, don’t you dare, cazzo!” I bark, but the line’s already been cut. I curse again, so fucking tempted to ram my fist in the wall. But there will be no satisfying hole left behind, only the crunch of my knuckles. I decide against it and walk back into the study, where my father and Da Costa are having another standoff. I sit in the chair and wait for them to finish staring at each other intently.
“What did you find out?” My father wants to know without moving his gaze away from Da Costa. I relay the information Pietro just gave me, and my father’s jaw tightens. I know the same questions are racing through his mind as they did through my own a little while ago.
“Do you love her?” Da Costa interrupts, finally tearing his gaze from my father’s. “Bianca. Do you love her?”
I return his intent gaze and mull over his question. There is really one answer, and we all know what it is. Whether I want to say it out loud is another thing, though.
“Yes,” I finally say. My voice is strong, sure of itself. Just as I am sure of my feelings. “I do.”
“Good.” Da Costa shuffles through some papers on his desk. “Then we better find her before I fucking die. Not looking that good for me. I am a sick old man, after all, and Bianca is all I have.”
“Not all you have,” I mutter to myself, and my father kicks me with all his might. “Fuck, stop that!”
“What?” Da Costa raises his eyes to mine, and our gazes connect. I stare at him intently. This man is old, sick and tired, just like he said himself. He needs this information. He deserves to know there is another heir.
“You have a son,” I tell him tiredly. “A child. A boy.”
I watch his eyes widen as my father groans in frustration. So far though, he hasn’t attempted to kill me yet, which I’m going to assume is a good sign. Da Costa runs his fingers through his receding hair, muttering in Italian.
“A boy,” he says. “A boy. My boy. Another one.”
My phone rings again and I’m so nervous I pick it up right in the room as the two older men stare at me. “Yes, Pietro?”
“Did you find the gun?” he asks in a frenzy.
“What?” I feel confused. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.
“The. Gun.” He punctuates his words heavily. “Did you find the gun or did my brothers?”
“I didn’t,” I say, furrowing my brows. “I didn’t find it. Antonio did. He said someone kicked it under the bed.”
Pietro curses in Italian. “They didn’t,” he admits. “Someone planted the gun to throw us off track.”
“Who?” I ask, my voice shaking, even though we all know the answer. “Who did that, Pietro?”
A
long silence follows, and finally, his defeated answer. “My brother.”
I roar and throw my phone across the room, watching it shatter against a wall.
13
Bianca
I've lost feeling of what time it is. In this perpetually lit up room, I can't tell whether it's day or night. I've had another meal brought to me, so I can only assume it's dinnertime now. The meals are my only way of knowing what time of day it is.
When he came to bring me the food, we didn't speak at all. He had a smile on his face though, as if I amused him. I didn't comment on it, and I ate my meal like a good girl. He's taking his time with me, which only scares me more. Perhaps it would be better to die fast, and not suffer at the hands of a madman.
I keep thinking about Matteo. I think about Daddy, too, but Matteo is the front and center of my thoughts. I never thought I would feel this way, about anyone - not even the man my dad chose for me to marry. Especially not him.
I don't let myself fantasize about ever getting out of here. I know I'm as good as gone, and thinking about the life I could've had with Matteo is just too painful.
I will die a virgin, I realize at some point. But there another thought occurs to me - the man who has taken me captive might as well try to rape me. Why stop at hitting me? I am completely at his mercy.
I sob into the soft, downy pillow for what seems like hours. I feel so fucking vulnerable in this room. The walls are closing in on me and I feel like I'm just waiting for my execution to take place. Time passes excruciatingly slowly. What feels like hours is probably mere minutes. The tension in the air is palpable.
I must drift off to sleep at some point, because I stir awake when a key starts turning in the lock. I'm up right away, clutching the duvet to my chest and retreating against the headboard of the bed. I need to get away. Every cell in my body is yelling danger, danger, danger. He's going to really hurt me now.
The door opens with a creak. The man who took me stands in the door frame. Just stands there, not moving. It's the scariest thing I've seen in my whole life.
He has something in his arms, a belt.
"Hello, little bird," he says in a deep, husky voice.
At least he knows I'm not Lottie now. Not his sister.
I've slowly pieced the story together. But I need more answers from him to understand the whole thing. And I need to distract him before he uses the thick leather belt on me.
"Hello," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He advances on me, slowly. I shiver in the bed. "Are you mad about the book?" I ask in a shaky voice. I've never felt this vulnerable.
He shakes his head. "Old piece of shit."
That definitely wasn't his opinion a few hours ago. It scares me how fast his mind works, the cogs turning and shaping him into a different person every minute.
"Are you going to hurt me?" I look up at him with my eyes wide.
"Yes." His answer comes fast, simple and threatening. This is nothing like Matteo. Nothing like the way his strong fingers make me gasp and beg for more. This is darkness personified. He is the devil, and I'm about to enter hell.
"Please don't," I beg, not caring about my dignity. All I care about right now is seeing another day, even if it is in this cell. "Please don't hurt me. I'll do anything you want."
"Oh, but bird," he grins at me. His face is contorted into a handsome, evil mask. "What I want is for you to be hurt. I want your tears. It's what gets me hard."
His words are so horrible they make my skin crawl, and I whimper, crawling under the duvet.
He takes off his jacket until he's standing in front of me in jeans and a T-shirt. I'm just staring, waiting for the horrible moment when the viper strikes.
"Strip."
A simple order, yet one I cannot follow. I shake my head no, and he roars with anger, pulling the duvet away from me. I shriek as he grabs my ankle and pulls me towards him. He takes a pocket knife from his jeans and in two motions, cuts up my shirt and rips it off me. My pants follow next, until I'm shivering in just lingerie.
"Now we play." His eyes are burning, dark and dangerous.
He rips my bra off next, the delicate lace tearing and exposing my breasts. I reach up to shield my body from his watchful gaze, but he makes me get on my hands and knees. The panties are next. He doesn't stop until I'm shaking in front of him, naked and vulnerable.
He hasn't hurt me yet, and yet it's the most horrible kind of torture I've ever been exposed to. The mere anticipation, the knowing of what is to come, is making me shiver.
"You're not Lottie, bitch," he snarls at me. "Lottie was innocent. Lottie was perfect. Lottie was beautiful." I hear the belt buckle as he picks it back up and goose bumps erupt all over my skin.
"And I didn't protect her from him." His voice is sad, as if he were mourning.
Lottie. His sister. Who hurt her? Despite my predicament, I need to know the answers.
"P-protect her?" I ask, stuttering over my words.
"My father," he says coldly. "My father raped his own daughter, night after night after night."
"And you tried to protect her," I realize out loud.
"Until one night, I couldn't." His voice is breaking.
I take my chance, sitting down on the bed and turning around. "Why are you doing this?" I ask him desperately. "Why Patrizia, Annabella, Kate, why Lily? Why me?"
He looks empty. His eyes are hollow, even though they're still in their sockets. He is a shell of a man.
"You need to pay," he says, murmuring the words. "Need to pay for being a whore."
"I'm not a whore," I beg. "I'm a virgin!"
"Lottie?" He looks at me with hope in his eyes. This man is insane. Completely, utterly mad. And I have to play along.
"Yes," I say desperately. "Yes, I'm Lottie." I reach for his hand even though it disgusts me. "I'm Lottie, and you need to protect me. Not a whore you need to punish. Don't be like your father. I'm Lottie. Protect me, please."
He looks torn, his crazed eyes dancing over my features. I've never hoped I looked like a dead girl before now.
"I'll do anything you want," I say shakily, reaching for him, my hand landing on his knee. I realize too late I've shattered this illusion. He roars with anger.
"Whore!"
He whips me back into place and I crumple to the bed in a heap. He brings the belt down once, twice, thrice. Across my ass. Across my legs. Across my belly.
"Not Lottie. Not Lottie. Not Lottie." The words punctuate his blows and I whimper, crying as he hits me hard.
"Cry, birdie," he tells me with a wicked grin. "Your tears are the only lube you get tonight."
He unzips his jeans and pulls me forward as I howl, begging for help that isn't coming.
I'm still in my body. I thought when something bad happens, you go out of it and watch from afar. This is like a curse. A nightmare. And I'm going to experience every second of its dark perversion.
"Open up," my captor orders me, and I cry louder. "Spread those cheeks for me. Daddy's coming home."
I scream. Scream my head off.
And then nothing happens. Except for the ringing in my ears. Ringing, ringing, ringing, and I can't hear anything. A flurry of things happening. People running to the room. Gunshots. Ringing, ringing, ringing.
And then arms picking me up. Arms I know. A blurry face I recognize. Another pair of arms I know places a blanket over me, covering my nakedness. I stop screaming, only realizing I've been doing it when the ringing finally stops and is replaced by my name.
"Bianca. Bianca. Bianca. Bianca."
Like a prayer. Come back. Be okay. Don't be hurt. Come back to me, princess.
And that's when it happens. That's when it finally goes dark, and the darkness lets go, and embraces me at the same time.
I wake up in a bed I know. A bed I've been sleeping in for the better part of my life. A room that is too girly and too childish for any girl my age. My room back at home.
One thing's different. A str
ong pair of arms is wrapped around me. I get that feeling again, like I'm going to fall apart if no one holds me together. But I'm not alone now. Someone else is keeping me together.
"Morning," he tells me. His voice is sleepy, husky. I look up at him, and I start weeping. Relief floods my body, relaxing my muscles for the first time in days.
"Is this a dream?" I ask softly.
"No, princess," Matteo tells me, kissing my forehead gently. "I'm really here. You're okay. You're safe now."
I let him hold me until someone clears his throat. I look up to find my father sitting in an armchair on the opposite end of the room. "You alright, baby girl?" he asks me.
I blush, trying not to think of the awkward situation. Instead, I get out of bed, thankful that someone put me in PJs. I rush towards my daddy and hug him close. Needing to feel him to know I'm finally home.
"What happened?" I ask.
"You're alright now." Another familiar voice. I look up from my father's arms to find Angelo Abbate standing in my childhood bedroom. I nearly choke. These two cannot be in the same room. Surely there's a standoff just waiting to happen any moment now.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Matteo comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He lifts me up as if I weight nothing and carries me to a sofa. He puts me in his lap and I curl up closer as the three men, the men who have all shaped my life, start to speak.
"The man who took you, unfortunately, worked for me," Abbate says. "Antonio Romero."
"One of three brothers," I say, nodding slowly. "I saw them... When I was in the cell. I didn't know which one was which."
"Antonio was unhinged," Matteo says into my hair. "We never knew. He hid it well. Some monsters are apparent to the eye, but others hide in the light. You never know how twisted they are until they strike for the very first time."
“His sister died,” I say with a heavy heart. “It must’ve happened when he was younger…”
“A sister?” Abbate looks at me questioningly. “I didn’t know there was a sister.”
I nod fervently. “Yes, she must’ve been younger than them all. Their father… he abused her, and killed her one day. I think it’s what spurred all of his issues.”